The Dragon and the Nightingale
by Annemarie01
Summary: Darinius was exalted when Duncan came to the Circle to pick him out to be a Warden. It was his escape from a dull prison. Little did he know he would not only fight the Blight but also for the life of his lover. It would lead him into more danger than the Darkspawn ever could. This story is dedicated to Keller.blair1 who gave me the suggestion and asked me to write it.
1. Chapter 1

**A completely new story for the, on my part, long forgotten Dragon Age Origins. But someone triggered my interest and rekindled my love for the game. She gave me some very intriguing suggestions and I fell for it. I never wrote Origin stories before, I always stuck with Fenris, and so this is a new and exciting challenge for me.**

 **This is dedicated to 1. And to all the mails we exchanged and hours of thinking and frustration and sudden understanding we shared. I can only hope you'll like it.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The Dragon and the Nightingale

* * *

It was a cold, crispy morning and last night's frost had painted a delicate still life of beautiful white frozen flowers on the windowpane. Darinius tried to look outside through the frosty crust, but it was hard to see anything of the lake that surrounded the tower and impossible to discern anything of the picturesque village that lay on its shores. How much his intense dark blue eyes tried to pierce through the icy decoration, he couldn't see more than a distorted blur. He let out a sigh. He didn't long for a nice view as such, he only wanted a distraction. And no matter how agile and adaptable his mind was, the frozen delicate flowers got boring within minutes.

His long slender fingers tapped restlessly on the windowsill while incoherent thoughts swirled through his mind. He hadn't expected to be escorted to his old room. In fact, he hadn't expected to return here at all. It only made things worse and far more complicated. Out of the sudden his fingers went into a cramp. He cursed silently and try to flex the digits. They longed to caress the delicate strings of his harp after so long being forced to wield the demanding arcane blade. But, to his dismay, his pride and joy had been taken from him, together with his backpack. Right now it would have been the perfect distraction and he could only hope the instrument would be treated with the care it needed and deserved.

For a moment he allowed himself to wallow in memories.

 _A voice like a nightingale ... the silver tones of the harp that floated in harmony with the words she sang so beautifully..._

It had been the last time he had played his instrument, to accompany Leliana while she performed one of her favourite songs, a few nights before things went so terribly wrong.

The sound of the door being opened startled him out of his contemplations and he turned to see Greagoir enter. To his surprise the Knight Commander of Kinloch Hold was alone. It could be a good sign insofar that the man, apparently, trusted him enough to believe he wouldn't attack him. On the other hand, he hadn't taken First Enchanter Irving with him to allow the man to plead for his cause, as he had done more than once in the past. Then again, Darinius thought, Irving held no longer authority over him and, strictly speaking, neither did Greagoir. Anyway, Darinius was at least pleased he didn't have to cope with the overzealous, near to hysterical attitude of that young Templar Cullen.

'You got yourself into an enormous amount of trouble,' Greagoir greeted him without further ado. 'In fact, you made a disastrous mess of it. How could you be so stupid?!'

Darinius straightened his shoulders and retorted haughtily, 'More of a disastrous mess than you managed to make of this Circle? I don't think you're the one to criticize, Knight Commander.'

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. As Knight Commanders went, Greagoir was a good sort. He was far from lenient, but he was righteous and fair and would never abuse his power, nor tolerate any malice towards mages from his Templars. But Darinius had tasted freedom and, besides that, had always objected to treating mages as inferior beings. Or as ill-intended walking bombs who would explode at a wrongly spoken word. Nevertheless, noticing the badly suppressed twitch in Greagoir's face, he added apologetically, 'I'm sorry. I suppose that was a low blow.'

The Knight Commander glowered at him. 'You were always too smart for your own good.'

'Too outspoken for a mere prisoner, you mean,' Darinius corrected him. He simply couldn't help himself, but the twitch didn't return. It had always been hard to get under Greagoir's skin. He smiled thinly. 'A real prisoner as it were; not someone locked up just for his dangerous capabilities.'

'No,' Greagoir bit back, 'for his dangerous actions this time. Have you any idea what kind of turmoil you stirred up?!'

Since the Lord Seeker Lucius Corin in person had stood yelling at him, Darinius damn well knew what he had stirred up. No need to reply to this rhetorical question.

In a dark tone Greagoir went on, 'You know very well they had all the authority in the world to sentence you and the only reason they didn't was because Wynne stepped in. Due to her interference they agreed on sending you back here, because the Grey Warden headquarters in Weisshaupt Fortress is simply too far away.'

'Indeed,' Darinius reacted, tilting his head and regarding the Knight Commander with cool eyes, 'you hold no sway over me. I am no longer a prisoner of your Circle; I am a Grey Warden. You have to let me go.' Annoyance was simmering beneath the surface but he willed it down.

'Were it that simple.' Greagoir pulled a hand through his beard, a sign he felt uncomfortable with the situation. 'You may be a Grey Warden, but even Grey Wardens aren't allowed to commit murder.'

Darinius stepped away from the window, his hands clenched to fists. 'It wasn't murder!' he flew up with hardly reined in fury. 'It was a rescue attempt! And I really don't see why the Seekers thought they should get involved with it! It had nothing to do with them!'

'You are a mage.' Greagoir sounded tired. It should have been a warning for what was to come, but Darinius ignored it for the time being.

'They are no Templars,' he spat heatedly, 'they had no reason at all –'

'A _Fereldan_ mage makes amok in Val Royeaux, the capital of _Orlais_ , of all places; they had all the reason –'

'If they consider what I did an act of war, they should have sent the army! Not the Seekers!'

'Don't interrupt me, boy!' Greagoir growled. He knew very well Darinius had a valid point, but also that the Lord Seeker would seize every opportunity to wield his authority, if only to extend his power. As a simple Knight Commander of a minor Circle, he had little means to waylay him. To his surprise the mage before him backed down.

Slowly it started to get through to Darinius that things weren't as simple as he had thought they were. As he had expected, Greagoir was angry with him. But something in the other man's eyes told him the situation was not only complicated but bad as well. He suddenly feared what was afoot.

As to underline that fear, Greagoir's expression went from stern to sad, although he tried to hide it, which made it even worse. 'The Lord Seeker demands tranquillity in this case.'

' _What_?' Darinius stared at the Knight Commander, not trusting his own ears. 'He can't do that! He has no right!' His voice, normally warm and sonorous, went hoarse and sounded suffocated.

'Perhaps not, but I'm afraid I've little choice in the matter.'

'Worried about protecting your own skin?'

The twitch returned but Darinius took no pleasure in it.

With a last unreadable look Greagoir said, 'I'd prepare myself if I were you.' And with that he swept out of the room.

Just before the door shut, Darinius saw two Templars move in the corridor to stand guard. No way could he escape just like that. He sank on the small cot, trembling all over his body. He had never believed it would come to this. He had been confident his status as a Grey Warden would protect him. How naïve he had been! He should have known that with the collapse of the order at the Battle of Ostagar that protection had seized to exist in the eyes of the likes of the Lord Seeker. He should have known that the honourable viewpoint of the dwarfs, of the Arl of Redcliffe and even of this very Circle, weren't exemplary for the rest of Thedas nowadays. More the reason to hate general Logain Mac Tir who had made that happen.

And where were his friends? Did they know about this? He had been dragged from Orlais to Kinloch Hold in a closed carriage with barred windows as a common criminal, escorted by a company of the Val Royeaux Guard. The City Guard, not the Orlesian army, probably to avoid any hostilities with Ferelden. Though at least one Seeker had come with them. A young one, fierce and keen and probably still in training. Her name was Cassandra Pentaghast and she would without doubt rush through the ranks in times to come. He suspected Lucius Corin had sent her with them to give back a full report.

He closed his eyes to prevent the gathering tears from falling; he would not allow himself to sob like a little boy. His friends wouldn't leave him to his fate, he was certain of that. He wouldn't be surprised they had followed the carriage and were already hatching a plan to free him. And what about Wynne? She had stood up for him in Val Royeaux; she wouldn't abandon him now, would she?

* * *

Knight Commander Greagoir returned to his office where First Enchanter Irving and Wynne were waiting for him.

'I strongly protest against the way this affair is being handled,' Wynne said, even before Greagoir could utter a word. He wasn't surprised to see her here. She hadn't been a part of Darinius's escort but he had already anticipated she wouldn't be far away.

'You should have stopped the boy,' he said reproachfully. 'You let him completely go out of hand.'

Wynne bristled. 'He's not some kind of puppy I can hold on a leash!' she reprimanded him. 'Even if you like to consider him such. And he stood in his right.'

Greagoir snapped. The last thing he wanted right now was to be chastised by a senior mage, even if that mage was Wynne, whom he held in high esteem. 'He was so foolish as to interfere with that idiotic play the Orlesians call the Grand Game! He and you and all who were with you should have known nothing good could come of that!'

'He tried to prevent a great injustice being carried out! Perhaps it was a rash action, especially in the current circumstances, but I, and all who were with us,' (she nearly spat those words), 'backed him in his decision.'

They stood nose to nose by now, Wynne with her hands on her hips and her eyes flaming. Greagoir had never seen her this furious; she behaved completely out of character. Secretly he wondered if she felt as some substitute mother; she surely defended Darinius with the ferocity a she-bear defended her cub. With a pang of remorse he remembered how she, years ago, had to give up her child, as all female mages who accidently became pregnant. Along the years he had steeled himself against those heartbreaking events because he had had no other alternative. But because he had always harboured a warm spot for her he had especially been moved by her grief. Relations between Templars and mages were always reserved but from the moment she had been brought to the Circle, Wynne had been a bright and happy woman and it had been hard to not get infected by her everlasting positivism. She was liked by everyone, Templars and mages alike. But she had changed after her son had been taken away. The warmth she had so easily and generously radiated had chilled down to a careful, though still friendly posture. But, more importantly from his sight of view, she had distanced herself from him. It had hurt him. More than he cared to confess.

With that painful memory suddenly swirling at the surface of his mind he, without thinking, blurted harshly, 'He will be tranquil by tomorrow on order of the Lord Seeker. That's where your thoughtless behaviour has led to. So I recommend you better think twice in the future.'

Wynne blanched. She heaved her hand and for a moment it seemed she would slap him in the face. But then her arm fell and she staggered back. Wide-eyed she stared at him. 'And they wonder why mages turn to blood magic?' she whispered. 'Such cruel punishment.'

Irving took her arm. 'Wynne,' he said softly.

Wordlessly she let him lead her out of the office. She didn't even deign to cast a glance upon the Knight Commander when she passed him.

Greagoir rounded his desk and crashed down in his chair. He buried his face in his hands. It had been a terrible day and the day of tomorrow promised to become even more dreadful.

* * *

Darinius lay on his cot, his hands folded under his head. He stared at the ceiling without seeing any of the little spots and smudges that had triggered his imagination in the few weeks he had been able to call this little room his own, after he successfully had passed his Harrowing. Back then, it seemed a lifetime away, he had imagined he looked at some star sprinkled universe and he had invented his own constellations.

But at this moment his universe was pitch-dark. He trusted his friends, he wanted to trust them, he really did, but even so, the future looked bleak. What could they accomplish in such a short time? Come tomorrow, he could be a walking and speaking puppet without feelings, without a conscience, because a tranquil didn't need a conscience. Would he be unhappy? Of course not. A tranquil wasn't unhappy. A tranquil wasn't anything. Just an empty shell drifting on the waves of time, waiting for his death. Even death wouldn't be terrifying. Wasn't that terrific.

With two hands he irritably pulled at his long thick black hair and made himself yelp. He wasn't tranquil yet, damn it. _Wake up, you idiot!_ Everything could happen. He mustn't give up hope, this wasn't like him.

But the expression in Greagoir's eyes had put him off balance. He realised he had never been in such great danger before. Not even when he fought through the hordes of darkspawn in the Deep Road trenches, with a cursing and belching and reeking of alcohol dwarf fighting at his side. Despite everything he smiled at the memory. And then he thought of her. He had wanted to avoid it because it was so painful. But now he found it brought him comfort.

So he thought back at the moment he first met her. It had been one of the most wonderful days of his life.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **And, of course, I'd like your ideas on this chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**The story continues with some petty rows and with how Darinius meets Leliana...**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The Dragon and the Nightingale 2

* * *

It had been a trying day and on several occasions Darinius had had to refrain from starting to shout or deal someone a well-deserved whack around the ears. In particular the two someones who kept on bickering behind his back. It seemed Morrigan simply couldn't stop talking and she especially took a wicked pleasure in taunting Alistair as much as she could. And Alistair, on his turn, vigorously rose to every bait she dangled before his nose. Or better, spat into his ears. Most of the time, though, he sadly got the worst of it because he got lost in his own arguments, or perhaps because he simply couldn't cope with the witchy mage. Darinius couldn't blame him. He felt for him and understood him all too well. He just couldn't stand it any longer. It was like listening to some quarrelling children in Kinloch Hold, but without the escape route.

'Why do you always go on about how stupid I am?' Alistair complained after a short but blissful pause. Darinius had hoped that blissful pause would have lasted longer but the silence got abruptly torn to pieces after mere minutes. Worse, it sounded like an overture to yet another hour of senseless squabble.

That was it. Darinius halted abruptly and swirled around. 'Just shut up! Both of you!' he shouted irritably. He almost drew his sword to bring the message home. 'I can't hear my own thoughts through your endless yapping!'

'And what might be the important issue you need to contemplate in total silence?' Morrigan informed tetchily.

'That's none of your bloody business,' Darinius snarled at her.

Right now he was having second, or third and even fourth, thoughts about taking the woman with them. He was a very capable mage himself; he didn't need the assistance of another one. He had reasoned at the time that a mage who wielded a staff could come in handy as some kind of long distant fighter, since he preferred to fight as an arcane warrior himself and thus used a sword. That was, in fact, an old elven technique and not much encouraged by the Circle. Which, of course, had never held him back, rather the opposite, and in the end First Enchanter Irving had indulged him, probably knowing he could not win that particular fight. And so he had abandoned his staff and had, with much dedication, applied himself to fighting with a blade. He had reasoned, when Flemeth more or less forced Morrigan on them, she could protect their backs when things got hot. But now Darinius thought they'd better searched for a skilled archer instead, if they really were set on that long distant fighter. He highly suspected Flemeth had only wanted to be rid of her witty but annoying daughter and he couldn't blame the old witch. She worked not only on Alistair's nerves, but on his as well.

'And don't act as the all-knowing sophisticated woman you pretend to be,' he added, snorting disdainfully. 'You're behaving as juvenile as Alistair over there.' His fellow Grey Warden opened his mouth to protest. 'I said: shut up!' Darinius growled menacingly. In shock they both did. Ah, peaceful silence at last.

They had left the Korcari Wilds by now and were travelling through no less wild woodlands. In the dusk that hung under the foliage of the old, impressive trees all kinds of issues had risen, none he wanted to share with his fellow travellers. Not before he had sorted them out for himself. They mostly handled about the nightmarish images and impressions of the awfully gone wrong battle at Ostagar. He still couldn't believe what had happened. Or better, why it had happened. Just as Alistair he had been angry the two of them had been sent to light the signal as some messenger boys, too green to partake in the battle. He realised that, in hindsight, that decision had saved their lives, notwithstanding they had had to fight their way through the tower to reach their goal. But from their high vantage point they had had a more than clear view over the battleground. And so they had witnessed General Mac Tir's treason. Moments before they got overwhelmed and, apparently, were saved by Flemeth.

He understood why Alistair had been so dismal since that occurrence. Not only had the battle been lost and had they been betrayed, but his mentor, the one he had almost considered a father figure, had died before his eyes. And for what? For the ambitions of a general who wanted to be king. Who hadn't thought twice about killing his daughter's husband to grasp the ultimate power. He spent a fleeting thought about how Queen Anora must be feeling but cast it aside. He doubted she'd married Cailan Theirin out of love. He wouldn't have been surprised she would have done the same, or something similar, had she been in her father's position. The high and mighty, always striving for even more power. And ruthless in their way to get it. It must be a very addictive drug.

Before he could become too cynical, he suddenly detected movement through the twisted trunks and branches and not moments later heard shouting voices. Not far before him he spotted an open space and he cursed himself for not having been more alert for danger. There could linger more nuisances in the woods than irritating companions. Kinloch Hold might have been a safe place to live in, in the little time he had spent outside the Circle he had found out that he should be at attention at all hours. And he always had been a keen scholar and a fast learner. The scouting assignment that had sent them through the Korcari Wilds had taught him in a handful of days more than reading books about the subject ever could have. Not that there had been many book available about the place, let alone about what to do on a dangerous mission over there, but he had devoured every single volume he could get his hands on. It had given him a bittersweet sense of freedom and had provided a way to, at least in his mind, escape his prison for a while.

At the very moment he got aware of several persons running and ducking, he heard the yelling.

´ _Don´t let her get away_!´

The whirring sound of a launched arrow split the air. And then again, and again. Several arrows got fired repeatedly.

He already had drawn his sword and now he hid behind a broad tree trunk, trying to get a grasp of the situation, and with his arm he gestured Alistair and Morrigan to do the same. He could only hope they would follow his lead. Knowing Alistair, he would break through the brambles and ferns to, scratched and bloodied, save the proverbial damsel in distress. Knowing Morrigan, she would let him have his way and at the same time sink on the floor with laughter. His heart beat savagely and his brain worked industriously.

Darkspawn? No. The voices, though coarse and rough, sounded human. And they hunted in a way the Darkspawn never would. The ungodly creatures would just swarm over the place without any plan or strategy, simply relying on their numbers. He counted only six attackers and caught a glimpse of one fleeing person.

Before he could decide what to do, it was all over. The mysterious fleeing person had disappeared, followed by the no less mysterious other six, and peace and quiet had descended upon the open space once more. Cautiously Darinius approached the spot. In the distance he could still hear some commotion but here, where the sunlight caressed the bluebells and yellow cowslips, silence had returned. He picked up a stray arrow that had missed its target and frowned when he noticed the peculiar fletching. Pheasant feathers. That was odd. He knew about goose feathers being used for fletching. Chicken feathers were quite common too, even turkey feathers. But he had never heard of pheasant wings supplying practical material for deadly missiles. (It was amazing what information could be found in the Circle library. He had often wondered about it. Why supply locked-up mages with so many facts and knowledge that was only useful in the outer world? Although it had given him a sense of freedom, it had been a false kind of freedom. He had always considered it some kind of subtle torture.)

He still stood ruminating, absently flicking the arrow between his long elegant fingers, when the others caught up with him.

'What was that all about?' Alistair asked breathlessly.

'I have no idea,' Darinius answered, 'and I doubt we'll ever find out.' A part of him regretted that. They had trouble enough as it was, but his curiosity was kindled. Another part whispered this was not the end of it, but only the beginning. But he disregarded that thought as wishful thinking.

* * *

Not hours later they reached the Imperial Highway, a silent but practical reminder of the times the Tevinter Imperium still ruled Thedas. And a quite beautiful one, Darinius couldn't help musing. He had to admit he often had wished he had been born in Tevinter, as most mages in the rest of Thedas did, he assumed. There, his talents wouldn't be feared or frowned upon or punished. There, he could have lived as a truly free man, without being regarded as a dangerous pain in the ass. There, he could have studied and practiced magic in the way it was meant to be used. On the other hand, he knew damn well about the depravity of the empire, and how his treasured magic was misused over there. Not to speak about the slaves that apparently went with being a magister, or even an altus. He despised slavery. He was too well aware of what being deprived of their freedom could do to a person. And wasn't he the one who looked down on having too much power? It only corrupted people, as the shocking behaviour of Loghain all too painfully had proved. He shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on the here and now.

That here and now very soon brought about a bunch of cheeky and very annoying outlaws that stood between them and the entrance to the small village of Lothering. After all that had happened already this day, Darinius didn't feel the slightest urge to pay the so-called toll or even to negotiate. His patience had run dangerously thin and he had nothing to spare for a couple of scroungers and bullies. Since they hadn't count on resistance, the highwaymen were easily taken by surprise and, shortly after that, were turned into very _dead_ highwaymen.

Without taking a second look at the corpses, Darinius headed for the stairs that led into Lothering. With a broad gesture he waved at the village lying at their feet. 'I suggest you take the picture in as best you can: the charming rural Chantry, the simple but pretty houses, the desperate refugees, the bickering locals ... the Darkspawn will swallow up all that loveliness within a few days.'

'My, aren't we gloomy today,' Morrigan commented.

'Just sarcastic. I thought you would recognise the tone, you use it all the time, after all.'

Morrigan already opened her mouth to give a sharp retort, but was cut short by one of Darinius's flaming dark blue glares. 'I have a hanker for a good pint of ale,' he said, defying Morrigan with piercing eyes to object, 'or do you wish to discuss that as well?'

'I'd prefer a cup of tea,' Morrigan parried tartly, matching his glower with one of her catlike yellow ones. She straightened her shoulders and heaved her head so high, it was in danger of losing contact with her neck. 'But if you like to be taken by surprise while you're sleeping off your hangover, be my guest,' she sneered haughtily.

Feeling the outburst that hung in the air, together with first crackles of magic, Alistair for once played the peacekeeper. 'Well, let's go then and find a tavern,' he said brightly, 'even a backwater town like this must have one. Where else would the inhabitants go to drink themselves senseless?'

With a last venomous scowl Darinius and Morrigan turned to follow Alistair in his quest for ale and tea.

* * *

The moment they crossed the threshold of the tavern Alistair had discovered, Darinius sensed something was wrong.

'Uh oh,' Alistair murmured.

It was clear what he meant. A group of burly men stood out among the locals like a Qunari in the Chantry. They were heavily armed and looked dangerous and out for trouble. Worse, they proudly sported the crest of Loghain Mac Tir on their chest plates. One of them, probably the leader, shot to attention when he saw their small party enter.

'Look at what we have here, men,' he said with a broad pleased and cruel smile. 'Aren't those the two Grey Wardens the General is looking for?'

Darinius's hand automatically shot to the pommel of his sword. He'd rather not fight in the crowded inn; the risk of innocent people getting hit was too big. But he wasn't willing to give in just like that either. Maybe he could talk his way out of this.

'I see you're still loyal to that treacherous, lying bastard,' he sneered derisively. 'I do hope you know it was him who sneaked away to leave King Cailan to die on the battlefield.'

'Slander on top of treason!' the soldier agitated called out. 'Get them, men!'

And then a young woman floated into Darinius's vision and for a moment he was at a loss. He had never seen such eyes: veiled, like they were hidden behind the most exquisite translucent silk, and at the same time so full of vivid expression, in a shade of deep sky-blue he had never seen before but straight away wanted to drown in. They were set in a heart-shaped face, above a small delicate nose. And between that nose and an adorable pert chin he discovered a rose-bud mouth his lips instantly hungered for.

'Gentlemen,' the mouth said and the voice it produced was warm and sensual and enveloped him in images of hot sultry nights and velvet touches.

He swallowed deep and shook himself back to life. _This is not the moment to get blown away by a pretty face,_ he chastised himself sternly.

In the meantime the voice continued, 'We don't have to fight each other. I'm sure there's a peaceful solution to the problem.'

Darinius found it impossible to resist or even counter those words, though his hands ached to give Mac Tir's men a good trashing at least. But before he could decide how to proceed, the leader made a threatening step forward.

'You must be joking, Sister,' he spat contemptuously.

Sister? Only now Darinius saw the young woman was wearing the garment of the Chantry. So much for hot sultry nights then. What a waste.

'We have the traitors here at our mercy,' the leader went indignantly on. 'We're not letting them out of our grasp.'

Darinius laughed out loud. 'Mercy?!' Without thinking he lashed out and hit the soldier square in the face with his fist. While the man stumbled back, Darinius brought out his dagger, grabbed the leader's collar and put the point to his throat. The sharp steel broke the skin and a small drop of blood welled up. Behind his back he heard the hissing of Alistair's sword and he didn't doubt Morrigan was aiming her staff. 'I'll teach you something about mercy,' he said darkly. 'You're free to go, but under one condition.'

The man looked at him with frightened eyes; evidently he hadn't anticipated this swift reaction. 'What condition?' he squeaked.

Darinius smiled unpleasantly. 'Return to Loghain and tell him the Grey Wardens are on to him. He will not escape the rightful punishment for his foul deeds.'

'Alright, alright,' the leader blubbered pathetically, 'we will tell him!'

Darinius looked after him while he and his gang stumbled out of the tavern before he turned back to the woman who had forestalled a nasty fight. He unfolded his most charming smile. " _Sister"? We'll see about that._

* * *

On the small cot in his austere room in Kinloch Hold Darinius let out a deep sorrowful sigh. His heart hurt as if it got skewered by a lance. He missed her awfully and thinking of her didn't lessen the pain. Slowly he stood up and started pacing the room. Sleeping was no option this night; it might be his last night as a whole person and he wanted to make use of every minute he was able to think normally. He tried to drum all the memories he had of her and their time together into his brain before he would be severed from all the feelings that made him a human being, although he knew it was pointless. As soon as the brand was forced upon him, he would have forgotten what she meant to him and how much he loved her.

He clenched his fists and pursed his lips into a harsh thin line; he was getting angry with himself. This wasn't like him, giving up even before the battle had started. There must be a way to break out. Anders had succeeded six times already, damn it! And if that giddy, sweet-talking giggler of a mage had done it, then certainly _he_ ought to be able to get away. Besides that, he still held on to the hope Wynne would appear to free him.

But it had been hours by now and there had still been no sign from the senior mage. He didn't even know if she had arrived at the Circle at all, let alone if the others were with her. And in the dark of the night it was too easy for despair to take over.

* * *

'By now I can understand why Uldred started his uprising,' Wynne said abrasively. 'This stubborn thick-headed attitude of Greagoir is enough to drive you crazy!'

'Please, try to calm down, Wynne,' Irving said warily. 'Drink some tea.'

The two of them were gathered in Irving's study. The First Enchanter was sitting at his desk while Wynne, just as Darinius at the same moment, was restlessly pacing the room.

Wynne turned sharply. '"Drink some tea!",' she sneered. 'That's your solution for every problem, isn't it!' She knew she was acting unfair, but the hopeless situation made her feel despondent and furious. 'I thought Greagoir would have more pride and common sense than to grovel before a power-hungry tyrant as Lord Seeker Lucius Corin!'

'Wynne!' cried Irving, shocked.

With a groan Wynne lowered herself on a chair. 'I'm sorry,' she said contritely, 'I'm not myself. I suppose our Templar Commander needs to move with utmost caution, after the appalling occurrences in our Circle. But I didn't expect him to swallow whole such an outrageous verdict.'

'Neither did I,' Irving confessed. After a short silence he informed tentatively, 'Did you travel here alone?'

'I did,' Wynne said, 'and before you ask, no, I don't know where the others are. I'm afraid I won't be able to count on their assistance.'

That was not completely true, but she couldn't risk tipping off Irving. She had hoped to wander freely through the Tower, but with every step she felt the suspicious looks from the Templars upon her. They almost openly guarded her, undoubtedly afraid she would try to liberate Darinius. She didn't know how to get a warning out and could only hope her comrades would come up with a clever plan themselves. But she feared the worst.

* * *

In the trees, not far from the shore of Lake Calenhad, crouched a team of three humans, an elf, a dwarf, a Qunari, a golem and one marbari.

'And here we are again,' Alistair murmured gloomily, 'and the thing looks even more menacing than the last time we were here. Ideas, anyone?'

'I could squish their puny little heads,' Shale offered.

'Nice plan,' Alistair groused, 'but we first have to find a way in before we can let you do that.'

'We were told to wait for Wynne's signal,' Sten rumbled.

'Up till now no signal,' Oghren remarked. 'Could be something went wrong. These sodden things usually do.'

'I could smash that door by just using a small amount of magic,' Morrigan suggested, ''T would be a simple trick.'

'I think stealth is our friend here,' Zevran objected, 'especially when things indeed have gone wrong.'

Leliana stared at the looming and seemingly impenetrable Tower where her lover was held captive. But she was certain there had to be a secret way in. There always was. She felt responsible and more than a little guilty about the predicament Darinius found himself in and she wanted to do something. 'I'm going scouting,' she announced determinedly. And without waiting for a reaction she started to steal forward.

* * *

 **Many thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**My impression of how our hero meets Leliana ... I hope you'll like it.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The Dragon and the Nightingale 3

* * *

Darinius was still wearing his most captivating smile when he said, 'While we're here anyway, we can as well sit down and have a drink; that's why we visited this tavern in the first place. Care to join us, Sister...?'

'Leliana.' She reciprocated his smile, though a little guardedly. 'And it's lay sister; I didn't take the vows.'

Darinius tried not to show his relief too obviously.

'And I gladly take your offer,' Leliana went on, 'because, frankly, I need to speak with you. Urgently.' She looked a little strained, as if she was about to deliver some bad news, or perhaps was about to say something she knew would stir up commotion.

Darinius wished to ignore that. He was fervently trying to keep his wits together and not to drown in those beautiful eyes and warm voice. He concentrated on her sweet rosebud lips until he realised they were an even greater distraction. Awkwardly he cleared his throat. 'Good! Perhaps then you can explain why you interfered with that little shouting-match over a refreshing drink. I'm still longing for that pint of ale. I suppose we all are. Except for a certain person of an extremely delicate disposition,' he said with a dirty look at Morrigan. 'And perhaps you long for something different? A different drink, I mean. What'll you have?' he ended breathlessly. He knew he was babbling mindlessly, if only to regain his common sense. Worse, he sounded like Alistair in one of his bewildered moods. He hoped with all his might Morrigan didn't notice; she would mercilessly take advantage. But before the mage could react on his incoherent jabbering, Leliana answered his question.

'I think I'll go for an ale as well,' he heard the breathtaking young woman say. Leliana. Her name resonated through his head like a love song. 'Master Barlin does a very decent brew. And I think I need a sample, after all the commotion. Allow me.' She turned to lead the way up the stairs to the upper floor of the inn, in search for an empty table.

That broke the spell, at least till the moment she'd found that table and he would have to face her again, literally.

And then Darinius frowned, for his eye was suddenly drawn to the bow and quiver on her back. It sobered him up fast. Besides the fact he thought it very odd a Sister, lay or not, would carry a bow around, he recognized the extraordinary fletching. Pheasant feathers. Not hours earlier he had seen similar ones lying about on the forest floor. An intriguing Sister indeed... He decided to let it rest for the time being. Undoubtedly a more convenient time would present itself to confront her with shooting arrows at random people in the forest while she was expected to do Andrastean things in the Chantry. Whatever that might imply.

'How did you know we would be here in the first place?' he asked instead when they were seated and their drinks had been brought. For a brief moment he considered the possibility the men in the woods belonged to the ones that had awaited them in the tavern but cast the thought aside. Even if that were true, why would they pursue her?

'Those soldiers were questioning everyone in the village,' Leliana explained, 'they made no secret of their intention. They described your images and even offered a reward, but the people here are more concerned with the Blight than with renegade Grey Wardens. As for me...' She paused and let out a little sigh. And then blurted, 'I received an assignment from the Maker to leave the Chantry and accompany you in your quest against the Darkspawn.' At least she had the decency to look as if she expected them to react befuddled at this bold announcement.

Darinius's smile stayed in place but his face froze around it. 'The Maker,' he echoed, trying to filter the revulsion out of his voice. _She_ is _a Sister_. _Sort of_ , a voice inside his head commented drily. _What did you expect? Not this_ , Darinius thought.

'Oh, I say!' exclaimed Morrigan, her disgust palpable. 'I thought Darinius here was the one who received a blow to the head. But apparently your brains are even more concussed than his!'

On the other side of the table Alistair choked on his sip of ale and started coughing ostentatiously. Leliana's sigh grew deeper.

'I'm sorry, could you, er, would you care to elaborate?' asked Darinius carefully.

As a mage he didn't particularly harbour warm feelings for the Maker and his Bride, and neither did Morrigan, he assumed. And he knew from the conversations he had shared with Alistair at Ostagar, that his fellow Grey Warden might have had a short Templar education, but that he wasn't very keen on following Chantry rules and rhetoric, let alone it's doctrine and dogma's. And now this woman, who had come floating into his life as some creature from his fantasies, stated straight-faced she had had a divine vision, threatening to smother his hardly bloomed infatuation right away. Nevertheless, he wasn't willing to treat Leliana with contempt. Especially not when he saw a bright light breaking through those veiled sky-blue eyes that let them shine as the stars of his invented constellations.

'In a dream the Maker came to me and told me to join you in your efforts,' Leliana said, distantly and defiantly at the same time.

'Are you certain you didn't suffer from indigestion?' scoffed Morrigan. 'Or perchance you ate some dubious mushrooms before bedtime?' She shrugged when she met Darinius's angry glare. 'Those things happen, I'm told.'

Alistair went from his coughing fit into a bout of giggles. 'I'd gladly paid good money to see the face of the Grand Cleric, should the Friday mushroom soup have rendered such effects!'

'Of course!' Morrigan sneered disdainfully. 'You would find a man tripping over his own feet so hilarious, you would suffocate on your laughter!'

'Admit it,' Alistair retorted, still chortling, 'that _can_ be rather hilarious.'

'Shut up, you two,' snarled Darinius, out of what rapidly was becoming a habit. He turned to Leliana. 'I'm sorry. I suppose you get used to them, eventually, but I have yet to master the art of ignoring them.'

Leliana smiled sweetly. 'I'm sure they make for exciting company during the long, boring nights at camp.'

Darinius regarded her with one raised eyebrow and a lopsided, amused smile. 'Oh, they do. But that's not the kind of excitement I prefer.'

'And what would that be?'

His eyes obtained a mischievous expression and he gave her a playful wink while he said, 'I don't think we know each other well enough to tell you that well kept secret.'

(Later, looking back at that little scene, Leliana recognized that was the very moment she fell head over heels in love with him. Possibly because she had lived in the confinement of the cloister for such a long time and almost had forgotten how it was to play the subtle game of flirting. He had been a breath of fresh air. A very handsome one to boot. She didn't want to disparage her own feelings, but knew all too well she had to be very vigilant. In fact, she was angry with herself she'd let herself fall for him so easily. Had she learned nothing? Some disastrous events had taught her to be very careful on whom to rely and she didn't know yet if he was worthy of her trust.)

'But we were discussing a different topic,' Darinius went on, his smile fading. 'Did you really hear the voice of the Maker?' He could hardly believe it. A lay sister with a bow didn't strike him as particularly zealous, unless she wanted to smite the sinners and heretics with righteous missiles. But she didn't give the impression to be that kind of huntress.

Leliana's lovely face fell a little. 'Not as such,' she confessed. 'In my dream I saw the darkness approach, engulfing the world and devouring the little light that still shone and, against all odds, persevered. I think it was your light. And suddenly, as some overwhelming revelation, I realised I had to fight that dark future. And side with you. And believe me, it _was_ as if the Maker spoke to me.'

''T is a wonder one dreams about such things in the current circumstances,' Morrigan jeered derisively. 'A truly visionary revelation indeed! This belongs in the realm of children's nightmares!'

'You know,' Alistair, recovered from his bout of both coughing and giggling, put in a word, 'the Chantry could consider such words as heretic.' He started to wave the hand that didn't hold the pint of ale vehemently when he met her angry eyes. 'Not me! Never me! But I grew up in a Chantry and I know how annoyed they get with people who start to throw prophetic words around. Because they can't stand it they didn't come up with those themselves!'

Leliana visibly relaxed and let out a little chortle. 'I see you and I have a lot in common. Maybe we can talk about our experiences at a more appropriate moment.'

Darinius thought it time to intervene.

'How are you with that bow? I take it you don't carry it around as some kind of fashion accessory?' He sounded rather blunt and he knew it. But his new found infatuation had received a nasty blow already before it had had the chance to take root and Alistair wasn't making things easier. He still felt somewhat dazed and confused and it irritated him.

Leliana cocked her head and looked at him with a small mischievous smile. Again he melted. He simply couldn't help himself. Oh, those eyes.

'You might be surprised, but I'm rather good with it.' She cocked her head a little more and her smile became somewhat roguish. He hoped she didn't know what it did to his knees, for one. He was grateful he was sitting down, with half of his body hidden under the table. 'You must think it strange a lay sister knows how to use a bow.'

He mulled over that, more thoroughly this time. He had already established she wasn't your everyday lay sister and now became certain there was a reason for it. Possibly not a very nice one.

'I take it you must have a fascinating history, my lady, before the time you decided to hide yourself in a cloister. And that, I reckon, has a very interesting reason.' He considered her perfectly blank expression. 'I will respect your secrets, as you do mine. For the time being.' This went with a small intimate smile. 'As far as I'm concerned, you can join our little band in our effort to fight the Blight.'

'Oh, of course!' exclaimed Morrigan over her steaming cup of tea. 'Why don't we set up an asylum for stray kittens and misguided fools?! We could raise money enough to fund an army!'

'That's enough, Morrigan,' said Danarius, sternly. 'By now I know you well enough to expect you to react negatively to everything that is decided. For once, try to see things in a positive perspective. I guaranty it will be refreshing. We need all the help we can get and I myself won´t turn away a good archer.'

Suddenly he remembered his musings from earlier, how he would gladly trade the mage Morrigan for an archer, any archer, if they were set on a long distant fighter. And now that archer was handed to them on a silver platter, and he didn't even have to choose, he wasn't willing to let her go. For more reasons than the practical one, he admitted conscientiously. But he considered that a plus.

To his surprise Alistair raised his mug in a salute. 'Welcome to our illustrious little group of exiled and hunted fighters!' he grinned boyishly. 'Strife and strangulation may be our destiny, but the Maker always lights our path.' He frowned and looked embarrassed at those words. 'Sorry, some silly Templar outburst from the old days.'

Leliana giggled.

Darinius observed her expression and was, once again, annoyed. Mostly annoyed with himself, he suddenly realised. He had never had to ward off competition. In Kinloch Hold he was considered a good catch. He was handsome and of noble birth. His features and long, curly and glossy black hair, together with his eloquence and occasional witty touch of humour, had made a guarantee for success. He had never had to fight for a lover. The women had tripped over their feet to share his bed. Or rather, a secret corner. He was spoiled. Spoiled with their attention and the easy way with which he always had been able to obtain it. That insight struck him with the force of a sledge-hammer. But he had never been in love. Not really. There had been the sporadic flutter of butterflies, certainly, especially when he was younger, but never a serious love-attack. He had never been forced to fight for love. He may be spoiled, and he knew it, but then again, he had never before met a woman that hit his feelings like she had. And she had accomplished it in a wink of an eye. He felt overwhelmed.

And then she managed to confuse him some more. Because he let his guard slip and hadn't paid attention anymore.

Leliana remarked, seemingly out of the blue, 'To be honest,' (she intensely observed him sipping his drink, which made him feel quite exposed for one reason or another) 'you look to me as someone who would go for a glass of wine, instead of a pint of ale.'

With a pang of remorse Darinius thought of his hidden stash of excellent red Ambritio that came from the southern banks of the river Cumber in Nevarra. Every Satinalia his parents sent him six bottles of the hearty wine which their faithful servant, without fail, every year managed to smuggle inside the Tower. There were still two bottles left from the last shipment when he went with Duncan to Ostagar to become a Grey Warden.

'How do you figure?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Leliana said light-heartedly, 'perhaps it's the noble features?'

Morrigan snorted.

Darinius wondered if it was mere flattery or keen observation. There was definitely much more to this girl than she wished to show. 'You are right,' he said, 'I prefer wine. But I was really thirsty and I don't trust the wine in a backwater village inn like this.' Again he thought of the two bottles of Ambritio he had had to leave behind.

'I didn't know you were allowed to drink wine in the Circle,' said Alistair surprised.

'You aren't,' Darinius confirmed, 'but there so many things that happen in the Circle the Templars aren't aware about. They're not a particular intelligent bunch, you know.'

'There you have it,' Morrigan said triumphantly. 'You can stop boasting about your Templar training.' Which triggered another squabble.

'I see what you mean,' Leliana said, grinning.

Darinius groaned and just drank his ale.

* * *

Leliana sighed when she heard the splashing behind her back. 'Did I say you could come with me?'

Woof let out a not to misunderstand "vrauw" which brooked no objection. The dog caught up with her in the lake that was supposed to let intruders think twice of attacking the Tower. _Or rather,_ Leliana thought angrily, _to discourage the imprisoned mages to break free_.

'Oh well,' she gave in. 'As long as you keep a low profile. You don't want to spoil the surprise, do you?'

'Humph,' the dog responded convincingly.

While she glided through the dark waters like a stealthy shark, Leliana thought back at the afternoon when they had stumbled upon the marbari. They had been just about to reach Redcliff when the animal had caught up with them, euphorically barking and yapping, all wagging tail and pouncing paws. Darinius had recognised him immediately as the sick marbari that had recovered swiftly after he had brought the Kennel Master the wilds flower to cure the poisonous infection the Darkspawn had inflicted on him. Alistair had told her Darinius had freed the dog, and the other ones that were considered too ill to partake in the battle, just before the attack of the Darkspawn. So they could at least try to get away. Evidently this one had been so grateful that he had gone through the trouble of tracking him all the way to Redcliff. It had touched her. And she had thought it did speak well of him.

The name Woof Darinius had bestowed upon the dog, however, had made her reconsider his intelligence. At that time she was still struggling with her feelings, or better, with the consequences they could bring about, and she seized every opportunity to convince herself he was a fool and she an idiot.

'Why not?' Darinius had replied. 'Marbari or not, he still _is_ a dog. So, why not give him a name in his own language? Or do you think he would care for something fancy as "Roderick"?'

He had made her laugh and solidify the feelings she fervently wanted to deny. Damn him.

And now here she was, together with Woof, desperately attempting to find a way to free him. Because they both cared so much for him.

* * *

Later that day, in the late afternoon, they were walking along the Imperial Highway, looking for a decent spot to camp. They had been very busy before they had left Lothering.

They had stumbled upon an imprisoned Qunari who reluctantly had joined their fast expanding group, although he had had little choice in the matter. It had been either that, or die at the hands of the Darkspawn. Nevertheless, he had shown little gratitude, in Darinius's opinion. But since he had already welcomed an unexpected archer, who was he to turn down a formidable warrior? Like he had mentioned before, they needed all the help they could get and a Qunari who wielded an impressive broadsword was nothing to sniff at.

And when they left the village, they had encountered a small horde of Darkspawn, attacking a dwarven merchant with his son. And although the merchant hadn't seemed very eager to put themselves under their protection, he had followed them nonetheless. The two dwarves might not be fearless fighters, Darinius had reasoned that Bodahn's stock could come in handy.

Before they went on their way, Leliana had gathered her meagre possessions in the Chantry and had changed into armour. She must have brought it with her all the way from – where she came from anyway. Together with that bow.

Darinius and Leliana walked side by side, followed by Alistair and Morrigan who for once weren't bickering. But Darinius suspected that was due to the impressive, if not aggressive, presence of Sten. Bodahn Feddic and his son Sandal trailed in their wake.

Leliana caught him off guard when she suddenly asked, 'Do you really don't care for the Maker?'

He turned his face to her and knew she must have noticed his puzzled expression, to say the least about it, back in the tavern. Right now he was tempted to say something rude like: "I care as much for the Maker as the Maker cares for me: absolutely nothing." And he was tempted to pull her close and kiss that rosebud mouth. Instead he said, 'I am a mage. I was locked up in the Circle. I hope you understand that fact doesn't kindle fond feelings for everything the Chantry enforces upon us?'

She nodded emphatically. 'I do. But perhaps you can try to see the Chantry isn't the same as the Maker. Not even the same as Andraste's teachings.'

With force he oppressed the urge of breaking into sarcastic laughter. 'That will take some time,' he said cautiously. He didn't want to insult her and to his relief Leliana let the subject rest. Silence returned once more but this time it didn't feel like blessed silence. He kept on chewing over how intriguing she was and thinking about what had happened to her to make her take refuge in an obscure Chantry in the middle of nowhere. Because he was convinced she had done just that. And he wanted to know why.

'I was wondering...' he started to give air to his curiosity. He didn't quite know how to proceed without sounding too inquisitive and at once wished he had kept his mouth shut.

'What a girl like me was doing in a place like Lothering,' Leliana helpfully ended his sentence. She, on her turn, sounded somewhat exasperated, as if she had had to answer that question too many times.

Darinius threw her a sidelong look. 'What kind of business a Chantry Sister could possibly have in a village tavern,' he said, a little icily.

Leliana turned her head and gave him an enigmatic smile. 'Don't you agree that especially in a waterhole like that there are lots of souls to save? No? Does that satisfy your nosiness?' Her voice positively tilted to the sardonic side by now. 'And I believe I already explained I was waiting for you. For a very specific reason. And it's lay sister. Not Chantry Sister, as you know by now.' She graced him a smile that lingered between annoyed and mysterious.

Darinius quirked up a corner of his mouth while he thought again that "lay sister" didn't stand in the way of kissing those inviting soft lips. And then he launched his attack, beforehand revelling in her reaction. 'But that doesn't explain why you were traipsing about the woods. On your own. Not that many souls to save there, I deem. Especially not by using arrows. Don't _you_ agree?' He matched her enigmatic smile with a devastating one of his own. To his satisfaction he saw Leliana swallow in surprise. Although, to her credit, she didn't blush. On the other hand, she coughed awkwardly _. Count your blessings._

'I'm certain I don't know what you mean,' she said haughtily.

'The fletching gave you away,' Darinius said carelessly, treasuring his little victory.

And then a whirling arrow grazed his ear, missing his head by the breadth of a hair.

* * *

 **I'm very hard trying to avoid re-telling the story and reproducing the conversations because I think most of you have plaid the game about a thousand times by now and must know it all by heart. Instead I attempt to create something new. Insofar possible, of course. I hope you appreciate that.**

 **Nevertheless, thank you very much for reading!**


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